


Cabin Fever

by blue like winter (bleucommelhiver)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: ...eventually, ...kind of, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleucommelhiver/pseuds/blue%20like%20winter
Summary: “Did you get…excited?”You’re rooted on the spot trying your hardest not to stare at his looming lips when he pulls back and waves the box of condoms cheerily in front of you.“Ugh. Wow, not in a million years, Ulric.”Nyx is handsome, sure, but he also has a special affinity for getting on your nerves. Unfortunately, you’re stuck together on a reconnaissance mission in Niflheim...for much longer than either of you expected.





	Cabin Fever

 

* * *

 

“You're to infiltrate the Niflheimian research facility located 60 miles south of Gralea. Ulric will be your escort and point of contact throughout the mission, understood?”

“Yessir. But with all due respect, _sir_ , I don't need a babysitter. Besides, Ulric isn't exactly,” you pause, trying to find a diplomatic way to phrase it,“…the most suitable Glaive for a reconnaissance mission considering his _propensity_ to attract attention." 

“Your concern is noted, but the decision has already been made. Ulric may not be your favorite person—” Captain Drautos raises an eyebrow at your snort but continues on as if uninterrupted, “—but he has the most field experience. If things go south, and seeing how close you will be to Niflheim's main military base, there’s a good chance it will, he'll be the one you want on support and extraction. You’re to report tomorrow at 0500 by the West Gate. That is all.”

“Yessir. Understood.”

 

* * *

 

“You'll be in and out. Easy peasy,” Crowe had tried halfheartedly to reassure you when you lamented your new assignment to her over a couple of drinks. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that she seemed more amused than sympathetic at your plight. “‘Sides, Nyx’s not so bad when he’s not suffering from a severe bout of foot-in-mouth syndrome,” she said with quirked lips.

“You mean that’s not his default setting?”

“Gods, no. You think I’d be able to put up with that on the daily? I don’t know, I guess you just bring out something special in him. He's a good guy if you get to know him. Promise,” she said with barely contained laughter. “ _Just give him a chance._ ”

Her words ring hollowly in your mind as you try to resist the urge to pummel your partner-turned-pseudo-husband as the rhythmic tapping of his foot while he examines his newspaper in faux interest becomes unbearable. From the way you’ve caught his eyes darting in your direction every so often, you’re convinced there’s no way he’s actually reading the paper. Besides, did Ulric even read the papers?

And while you’re relieved that Ulric had managed to snag one of the few remaining compartments for your three-day-long journey to Gralea, you’re slightly peeved that the result is being stuck with said person in a six-by-six box that feels much, much smaller. Every breath, every soft inhale and exhale is punctuated by the silence of the compartment, undercut only by the sluggish chugging of the train. Each change of position becomes a soft brush of knees and a stiltedly polite whisper of sorry’s in the cramped space.

As if that wasn’t torturous enough, you've become self-consciously aware of his every movement. Eyes trailing the tightening of his crisp white shirt when he turned the page; eyes following the smooth ripples of his wool trousers as he repositioned himself every ten or odd minutes to stave off the inevitable pins and needles of sitting in the same position for hours on end. The worst part is how disconcerting it is to see him dressed so comfortably like a civilian, that you almost had to pinch yourself at the thought that he looked, in fact, quite handsome…not that you weren’t already aware of that.

In reality, you are painfully aware of how attractive he is, often the talk of the Citadel. ‘ _Hero of the Kingsglaive_ ’ a moniker most women swoon over but you couldn't help but roll your eyes at. He is nothing but a reckless hothead, putting himself in danger for a little glory; probably just another adrenaline junkie like Tredd. You hate men like that, and perhaps that was the reason why you’re so quick to rebuff Ulric, even when he’s just trying to be polite.

Although, lately, ever since Crowe’s little birthday shindig he’s become infuriatingly…flirty? — if that was even the right word. He wasn’t so brash as to blatantly come on to you, but the smartass-at-times-complimentary comments had you torn between blushing furiously and wanting to knock the wind out of him. While you’re smart enough not to take his words to heart (probably just enjoys the thrill of chasing his girl-of-the-week), sometimes it’s hard when his clear blue eyes shine with a sincerity that you’re certain his lips never exhibit.

Like right now. Eyeing you up and down appreciatively.

“Didn’t take you as one for dresses, but can’t say I’d complain if this becomes a regular thing.”

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks when you reply, “Better not get your hopes up.”

“I never do,” he grins for a second before it’s replaced by a melancholy look you can’t figure out, “Not when it comes to you anyway.”

What does that even mean? Did you say something wrong? Before you could ask, he’s back to fidgeting with the goddamned paper and to make matters worse you’re stuck second guessing yourself to the point that your own actions have become excruciatingly conscious. _Sit up straight so your knees don’t brush_ , your consciousness nags. _Don’t cross your arms, it brings too much attention to your breasts._ _Take off your jacket before you start sweating._

 _It_ is _getting hot in here_ , you think.

And now you’re conversing with yourself in a feeble attempt to distract from the infuriating man sitting across from you.

 _Great_.

This must be what cabin fever feels like. At least after this stupid train ride, you won’t be stuck together in such tight quarters anymore, you repeat to yourself for the sake of your sanity.

How wrong you are.

 

* * *

 

“Ma’am? Ma’am, may I see your husband’s ticket?”

“Huh?” you dumbly respond.

Ulric seems to have impeccable timing when it comes to catching you at your worst because he opens his eyes right then, as if he wasn’t just deep in slumber, and apologizes smoothly, “Sorry sir, my wife’s a little disorientated from all the traveling.” He hands the conductor the ticket before turning to you and saying, “Get some rest, sweetheart, still got a bit more to go. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

You smooth the shock from your face as the conductor turns to smile kindly at you. “You’re lucky to have such a doting husband. Reminds me of how my parents were.”

Your cheeks flame up in embarrassment and you mumble your thanks as he exits.

“Hey,” Ulric says softly, placing his hand on your shoulder, the dizzying warmth permeating through your sweater, “I meant what I said, get some rest. We’ve got a long journey ahead. Doesn’t do either of us any favors if you arrive tired.”

Instead of accepting his generosity like you should’ve, you ask, “What about you? There’s only one cot.”

“Didn’t know you were so eager to have me in bed, sweetheart.”

And like that, the brief spell you are under is shattered. Before the scathing remark could fall from your tongue, he continues on.

“Joking aside, I’ve slept in worst. You need all the rest you can get. After all, I’m just the backup.”

“Fine,” you grit out,  “Just— just wake me up if you want to switch.”

“Roger that,” he says fully without the intention to do so.

 

* * *

 

He lets you sleep the whole ride, but true to his word, Ulric wakes you ten minutes before the scheduled arrival. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you’re greeted by a blinding expanse of never-ending white. You’ve heard of what happened after the Glacian’s curse, but witnessing it first hand was something else altogether. It’s amazing how the hubris of a Niflheimian Emperor decades ago can damn an entire region to eternal winter.

Sneaking a peek at your traveling companion you see his mouth is set in a taut line. He’s about as excited as you to arrived. With the way he usually carries himself, full of optimism and contagious confidence, it’s easy for you to forget that he too, has suffered immensely under the hand of Niflheim. It’s easy to forget the scars on his face aren’t the result of one too many drinks on a bawdy night out, but the souvenirs of war and loss.

A sudden squeal of brakes jolts you from your thoughts. You shake your head a bit and smile hesitantly at Ulric. It’ll do neither of you any good to think too much of the mission, or Gods forbid, each other.

In and out. _Easy peasy_.

“We’re here. Let’s go.”

Nodding, you reach for the luggage only to be stayed by the warmth of his ungloved hand on your wrist.

“Hey,” he grins in the way you’ve come to know as I-know-I’ll-hate-the-next-words-coming-out-of-your-damned-mouth-so-please-shut-up, “Let your doting husband get that for you.”

Gods. You wanted to hit him, but the bellow of the train signaling its departure forces you off. The moment you step off the train you are whacked by a bone-deep chill that has you shivering despite your fur-lined coat. As the train slowly departs, you can’t help but notice you’re the only ones to have gotten off at the station, leaving the two of you alone with the station master as the frigid wind cuts through your clothing.

“Tickets,” the station master demands with the same warmth of your surroundings. He snatches the tickets from your fingers and scrutinizes them. “Travel docs?”

Wordlessly, you hand over the falsified documents hoping the forgery passes his examination.

“What’s a citizen of the Empire doing with a—” he pauses to stare at Ulric’s face, “—Galahdan in this part of the country?”

You stiffen at his question. Another reason why you hadn’t wanted Ulric to come along — even without his traditional beads and braids, his hair now tied back in a low bun, he stood out like a sore thumb in this part of the world with his unconcealable tattoos.

Before you can respond with a practiced lie, Ulric answers easily for the both of you, “Visiting the in-laws. Gets rough living out in these parts with the snow and all, so the wife suggested we come and give them a hand for the holidays. You know how it is…” he says with a hapless sort of shrug.

At that, the man finally cracks a smile and hands back your documents. “Yeah, the missus has been nagging me to spend more time with the family too. Good luck out there, buddy.”

“Thanks, stay warm, man.”

When you are out of earshot, you send him an incredulous look, “ _You know how it is_?” He shrugs in response. “ _Stay warm, man_?”

“Don’t knock the charm. It worked didn’t it?” He grins toothily at you, proud of his little camaraderie with the officer before fixing his face in deep thought. “Although, doesn’t seem to work on you though, huh, sweetheart?”

Another shiver runs down your spine, but this time it’s not from the biting cold. He shouldn’t be allowed to look at you like that and…There it was again: sweetheart. There’s no one around to put on a show for. Was he just trying to get on your nerves?

“C’mon, Ulric, we need to get going if we want to make it to the safe house before sundown.”

With a sigh, he follows you into the sleepy snow-covered town. It’s already half past twelve, but there’s only a handful of people going about their business, leaving the majority of the village beautifully untouched. If you weren’t aware of the mysterious disappearances that plagued the area, you would’ve thought the village idyllic and serene, but as it were, the quiet tranquility seemed eerily manufactured and you rush along the unmarred path, eager to get to your destination.

 

* * *

 

“You sure this is it?”

“You see any other houses located at One Snowy Lane Road?”

“Ha. _Ha_. Ulric.”

“Maybe this is their idea of incognito,” he shrugs, swinging his leg to get off the bike. He offers his hand and you unexpectedly accept it, too entranced by the cabin to notice his proximity.

“Yeah, but it looks so…”

“Quaint? Comfy? Like we just walked into a catalog for Travel + Leisure’s best spots for a winter getaway?”

“Yeah… _exactly_ that.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him (since when did he read Travel + Leisure?) and then at the holly wreath that hangs perfectly in the center of the wooden door. Deciding to give the place a chance before backing off, you insert the key not expecting it to fit, but the telltale click as it slid into place and unlocked was unmistakable. “Well, I guess this is the place. Let’s check it out.”

The exterior was picturesque, but if possible, the interior was even more so – it was _perfect_. Mahogany from floor to ceiling, a stone hewn fireplace decorated with pinecones and candles and a fur rug sitting cozily in front, and a pine tree decorated in tinsel and ornaments wedged in the corner between a sofa and loveseat. You notice warily that there are gifts underneath the tree.

Ulric lets out a low appreciative whistle as he studied the place. “This is a helluva setup. You sure we didn’t just trespass into someone’s home?”

“I mean, the key worked, didn’t it?”

“A bit overkill for a safe house, though.”

“No kidding. Guess we have to look the part we play? In case we get any unwanted visitors.”

“Out in the middle of nowhere? Unlikely,” you hear as he checks out what you guessed was the bathroom, the only other room in the entire cabin.

Dropping your bags, you move to examine the kitchen and pantry. “Wow. This placed is stocked. Like, _really_ well stocked,” you say staring at the cabinet crammed with bottles of wine and an unopened box of condoms and lube placed strategically in front with the note: 

> _Happy hunting. You guys owe us big._
> 
> _\- LO + CA_

You stare at the note blankly for a few seconds before Ulric snatches it away and hastily adds, “Probably just, uh, some shit the previous occupants left behind.”

“ _Right_ …” you say not believing him for one second. “What’s with the blush, Ulric?”

“Blush? Hey, I just drove us _forty-five_ miles on a snowmobile in sub-zero weather; _of course_ , my face is flushed. Isn’t that why you’re flushed? Or did you have something else in mind?” he pauses in mock consideration, crowding you against the countertop before he husks, “Did you get… _excited_?”

You’re rooted on the spot trying your hardest not to stare at his looming lips when he pulls back and waves the box of condoms cheerily in front of you.

“Ugh. Wow, not in a million years, Ulric.”

“Well,” he smirks, “it’ll be worth the wait.”

 

* * *

 

That evening, over a few indulgent glasses of wine with a lazily put together dinner of fruits, jams, and cheese, you go over the briefings and maps for tomorrow together on the rug in front of the crackling fireplace. If it were not for the perilous mission ahead, it felt close to what you imagined a honeymoon or vacation with a lover would be like…though you’d rather take an oglop for a lover over him.

Glancing up from your notes, you steal a look at your partner. His mouth is fixed in a cute scowl of concentration that has you giggling.

“What?” he asks at the sound of your laughter.

“Nothing.”

He raises a brow at you.

“It’s nothing. Just the alcohol making things a little more amusing than they actually are,” you say, not ready to admit he looked cute much less that you were staring at him. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

Getting up to stretch, it hits you, there’s only one bed in the entire cabin, but before you can say anything, Ulric interrupts you.

“Take the bed, the rug’s comfortable enough. Just spare me a pillow, will ya, princess?”

Simultaneously thankful and vexed at his generosity you roughly lob a pillow at his head. He brings up a hand to catch it and it lands unsatisfyingly in the palm of his hand.

“Yeah, yeah. Get the lights when you turn in.”

With that, you snuggle deep into the covers and let the warm lull of wine and fire whisk you off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

You awake in the middle of the night to the labored sound of Ulric’s breathing and occasional groaning. It sounded like he was having a bad dream…or a particularly good one. Curious, you peer over your covers at the fireplace, where you expected him to lay fast asleep on the furs, only to find him sweat-slicked and awake, and most definitely naked. You shouldn’t be watching – rather, he shouldn’t have decided to take care of himself so blatantly exposed in the middle of the room, not that there are any other rooms besides the freezing bathroom – but you find yourself mesmerized by the rough strokes of his fist as he nears absolution.

His eyes are closed, brows taut in concentration with his mouth hung open, panting and _ah._ There it is again, that delicious rumbly groan that shoots heat straight down to your core. _Fuck_ , you really shouldn’t be watching, but really it’s his fault you can’t tear your eyes from him. From the way his hand slides down his cock, exposing his engorged head, squeezing tightly as he reaches the base so that precum forms and dribbles down his shaft, to the upward stroke of his fingers, gliding up greedily to catch every drop, using it to intensify his pleasure as his fingers travel past the ridges while ignoring his aching tip.

Gods, you hate yourself for thinking so, _him of all people_ , but what you would _do_ to have a taste of that, to run your tongue over him, tasting his essence. Would he taste like you imagined? Salt and musk, just present enough to remind you of exactly who you were tasting. Would he feel as full as he looked in your mouth? Silken steel, soft enough to be pliant but hard enough to choke as he slides deeper past your greedy lips.

There’s no way you’re falling back asleep like this. Throwing caution to the wind, you snake your hand down the front of your panties sliding your fingers past your folds, eyes fluttering shut as your cold digits brush against your sensitive nub. You knew you were aroused, but you hadn’t expected to be so _sopping_ wet.

You slide your fingers up again, jolting at how sensitive you are, and push down, pressing against your entrance until you’re effortlessly knuckles deep in your core. You can’t help but think how hot the _schlick_ sounds of your fingers sound against a backdrop of his panting and your fingers speed up, curling until they find just the spot to make you see stars.

 _Fuuuck._ It hasn’t been long but you already feel the beginnings of your orgasm lapping at your core. You open your eyes to look at Ulric, knowing that the image of him rutting against his hand is all you need to tip yourself over. Instead, your eyes meet his storm grey eyes and – _fuck –_ you’re helplessly careening over the edge as he watches, gaze never leaving your form even as you uncontrollably shudder and moan, the pleasure coursing through your body too great to restrain.

Through the haze of your pleasure, you think how shameful you’d feel if it didn’t just feel _so damned good._ It was _all_ his fault really, he shouldn’t have– The thought is interrupted by his lips suddenly upon yours. Your hand is yanked out of your underwear and pinned above your head.

“Why didn’t you just ask? I…I would’ve been more than willing,” he says into your neck as he peppers you with kisses and nips, moving lower with each word. “Gods, I’ve wanted you to look at me like this for so long.”

With his free hand, he palms your breast, running his fingers lightly over your nipples until you’re arching your back, pushing yourself into his palm. It wasn’t enough to feel him through the cotton of your shirt. He grins at this and presses his lips teasingly on the apex of your breast, the heat alone enough to make you gasp aloud.

“Tell me you want me.”

His tongue peeks out to lave at your tip, the wet warmth seeping through the cotton and into your skin like the beginning of a storm. You kick off your sheets in response and almost sigh in relief as you feel the hard press of him against your body.

“Want you. _Now_.”

The dark chuckle that escapes his lips has your toes curling.

“Want  _who_?” he teases as he pushes your ruined panties to the side, exposing just your sex to the cold air, to see for himself just how badly you want him.

“I want you, Ulric.”

He pulls back to look down at you, a dark glint in his eye.

“No, say my _name_.”

You stare back at him, then down _at_ him and decide your pride wasn’t worth it.

“Nyx.”

His grin is instantaneous as he moves down to recapture your lips, groaning, “Atta girl,” as he slides his cock slowly over your heat.

“Nyx,” you repeat wriggling in desperation to push him in.

He sighs your name into your hair but doesn’t comply, his length teasingly rubbing against you to the point where the need to be filled becomes a throbbing ache.

You moan his name again, this time in a tone that borders on desperation.

He answers with your name, but it sounds like a question.

He repeats himself, again, insistent.

**_“Hey, hey. Wake up. You ok?”_ **


End file.
